Your Frown Is My Umbrella

Little Reign tripped over her straggling shoelace and plummeted to the pavement with all the grace of a flailing rag doll.

Gert the Jerk crouched down beside her, howling with laughter as she picked up the ball she’d just thrown at Reign’s head.

“What’s wrong, freak?” the overweight preteen bully laughed, whipping the toy at her again and catching it when it bounced back. “Ya’ gotta’ remember to keep your eye on the ball! Here, I’ll show you…”

Gertrude stuffed the spongy dodge ball in her face, forcing Reign to literally keep her eye on it. Reign lifted her hand and shoved it back, spitting and blinking away the dirt that was now lightly dusting her delicate features.

Just as she began to shuffle back to her feet, Gert stomped down on her right hand, mashing it into the asphalt. Reign squeaked in pain and crumpled back to her knees, feeling the jagged rocks and splinters carving into her sensitive skin.

“Stop it!” Reign choked out, fighting back sobs of frustration as she tried to pry the bully’s running shoe off of her hand.

“What’s that?” Gert teased, putting a hand to her ear. “I can’t understand what you’re saying. I don’t speak ‘freak’! Haha!”

Panting exhaustedly, Reign lifted her head and scanned the playground to see if there was a teacher nearby. She craned her neck, trying to see past the groups of children that just walked on by, not even sparing the scene a second glance. And why should they have?

Reign was a freak, a misfit, and a loser. Some kids even thought she was a witch. No one wanted to associate themselves with someone like her, because that would make them a freak, too.

Finally, she spotted her fourth grade teacher in the crowd; Mrs. Harsenic. Reign lifted her free hand and waved wildly in her direction, already knowing it wouldn’t do any good.

“Mrs. –” she started to shout, only to be cut off almost instantly.

“Shut your face!” Gert shouted, grabbing hold of the back of Reign’s head and shoving downwards.

She groaned as Gert the Jerk relentlessly smeared the right side of her face against the playground blacktop. It was almost as though she were using it as a rag to clean up a mess; a mess like the one Gert had made just last week after spilling the red paint from art class all over Reign’s homework...

Reign closed her eyes as the pain in her face became one with the pain in her hands. She could hear Gert shouting obscenities about ‘good-for-nothing freaks’ and ‘putting a smile on’, but she didn’t listen to any of it. All she could do was lie there and wait for the recess bell to ring, or for the big fat bully to get bored and walk away. Whichever came first.

She peeked past her eyelashes in one final action of hope to see if by some incredible fluke, Mrs. Harsenic had maybe decided to come and help her.

No such luck. She watched as her teacher looked directly at her, and then turned away. This wasn’t even the first time a teacher had overlooked her misfortunes. It was like everyone in the world thought she deserved this rash treatment.

Although little Reign understood that being ignored was just part of her daily routine, that still didn’t stop the hurt and disappointment from raining down on her like a personal thunderstorm. It never got any easier; only worse.

Just as she was about to close her eyes again, Reign suddenly felt the weight of the bully disappear from above her. There was a loud oomph, and then a subtle crack as people gasped.

Reign sat up in a hurry and rubbed at her teary eyes, glancing around wildly to see what had just happened. When she saw Gert’s flabby body sprawled out on the pavement behind her, she wanted to laugh. The jerk’s nose was broken.

Two streams of crimson blood slithered down her face and onto the concrete. The red droplets stood out like splashes of color in a black and white movie.

If Reign had been capable of smiling, in that moment she would have worn the hugest grin possible. She rubbed the wounded side of her face absentmindedly, ignoring the stinging scratches that now riddled her otherwise flawless skin.

A small crowd had accumulated by now, and each child wore the same look of fascination. Who had the guts to stand up to Gert?

That question was answered when Reign noticed the young boy standing over the fallen bully. He couldn’t have been more than twelve years old. She swallowed hard, examining his brave face. She had never seen him before, but she could already tell he was different. Not only had he just stood up for her, but he had also hit a girl in the process.

He had straight, chestnut-brown hair that was just long enough to frame his handsome face. A tattered white T-shirt clung to his upper body, and he wore a dirty blue handkerchief tied loosely around his neck. A pair of holey denim jeans was the last thing she examined before his voice stole her attention.

“Doesn’t feel too good, does it?” the boy asked Gert smoothly, twirling the now-bloodied dodge ball on the tip of his pointer finger.

The entire crowd watched in awe as he bent down to Gert’s level, never losing control of the spinning ball.

“If I were you, I’d watch myself,” he hissed, and then launched the ball at her face again.

In that instant, Mrs. Harsenic burst through the wall of children and grabbed the rebellious boy by the arm.

“How dare you?!” she shrieked and started dragging him in the direction of the school building. “Hitting a girl like that, and on your first day! Shame on you!”

Another teacher shoved her way through the crowd and knelt next to Gert, who was now sobbing uncontrollably and spitting up blood.

It was almost funny how people sprang into action when one of their own was hurt. After all, these people were all bullies in their own right, and birds of a feather do flock together…

So did that mean this young boy was like her? Since he’d helped her when no one else would?

Uninterested in the nasty bully’s wellbeing, Reign thought about this as she turned her attention back to the ragged boy who was currently being led away by a very pushy Mrs. Harsenic.

Reign watched as he turned around briefly to look over his shoulder. When his dark sparkling eyes rested on her, she could have sworn she felt her heart leap into her throat like a fish out of water.

That grotesque, flustered feeling only intensified when he shot her a little crooked smirk, and then continued on his way to the Principal’s office.

*.*.*.*.*

Reign was roused from her deep sleep when she felt something (or rather, someone) poking her in the face.

Her first thought was that she had fallen asleep by the window again, and Damian was waking her up. When her eyes fluttered open in response, she immediately realized that was not the case.

She wasn’t by the window in her kitchen at all. She was lying on a bed (a rather uncomfortable one, at that), and Damian was not the one poking her towards consciousness.

It was a clown, an evil clown, and he was so close that Reign could feel his hot breath puffing obnoxiously against her face.

“Hi,” the man greeted blankly, dragging out that short two-letter word for all it was worth.

Her body instinctively jerked backwards in a harsh, awkward motion that nearly caused the two of them to bump foreheads. She scampered up into a sitting position, feeling her back thud futilely against the wooden headboard. Just as Reign was about to hurl her aching body out of the stranger’s bed, her elbows bumped against the headboard, too. That’s when a sharp throbbing pain erupted deep within the upper half of her right arm.

She yelped in surprise and automatically jerked forwards as her body folded in on itself. This time, her clumsy impulse did cause the two of them to bump foreheads.

She vaguely heard the man let out a wheezing oomph sound in response to her unintentional head-butt, but that didn’t stop her. Not even taking the time to grimace in pained humiliation, she quickly gripped her aching arm and flung her legs out of the bed so fast that it made her dizzy.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she heard the strange clown ask amusedly.

His words barely registered as she leapt off of the bed, struggling to balance as her wobbly legs threatened to give out on her. This had to be a nightmare.

What was going on? Where was she? Where was Damian? Why was she here? Who was this whack job, and why did her arm hurt so badly?

All these questions and more tumbled through her frightened mind as she impulsively made a mad, scrambling dash for the door with all the grace of a child in a three-legged race.

Too afraid to even look over and see if he was getting up to chase her, she threw herself at the doorway and seized the metal knob as though she were afraid it might jump off and run away if her grip slipped. Ignoring the blazing pain in her arm, she yanked the doorknob to the left, to the right, and then to the left again.

But, no matter how hard she twisted, the damn thing refused to budge and grant her the freedom she so desperately needed.

It was locked.

“No,” she breathed, yanking even harder. “No!”

She knelt down to the ground, frantically searching for a latch or button to unlock it. There had to be something! She couldn’t be trapped in here!

After inspecting the scant dimensions of the stubborn metal contraption, she realized that there was nothing but a cold, narrow keyhole staring straight back at her.

To her, it was like looking into the barrel of a loaded gun.

It was hopeless.

She pressed her aching forehead against the wooden door and groaned in defeat.

“No,” she repeated in a voice that was no louder than a croaking whisper.

That was it then. This man was going kill her, or worse…

“I knew you were gonna’ do that,” the clown giggled and jingled something in his hand.

At the sound of his peculiar laugh, a vivid image of The Joker (the criminal she had seen on the news countless times) flashed before her eyes. Was it – no…

She hurriedly glanced over her shoulder, resting her frantic gaze on the murderous clown who was still seated snugly on the bed, practically bouncing up and down with excitement as he jingled a set of keys in his hand. As soon as his menacing features fully registered in her memory, she wanted to run away more than ever.

She remembered everything; being chased by Rick, accidently hiding in The Joker’s van, talking to The Joker himself, and then being told to run away. And what exactly happened after that?

The persistent, intense pain in her upper arm was the answer to that question.

He’d shot her.

She turned the rest of her body around to face him, feeling the embarrassment and hatred crash down on her head like an anvil. But before she could act out on her anger, her right arm began to pang irritably in protest of her movements.

Her unsteady legs gave out instantly, forcing her to take a seat on the dirty shag carpet and lean against the traitorous door for support. Practically forgetting about her captor’s presence for the moment, she instinctively glanced over at the source of her pain and winced. That was when she discovered the bloodied white bath towel wound tightly around the upper half of her bare arm.

At the sight of her exposed flesh, she knew that someone had cut off her sleeve just so they could dress the wound. Reign allowed her reluctant eyes to flick up and meet The Joker’s soot rimmed ones.

Had he helped her?

First he shot her, and then he helped her. If he wanted her to suffer, he would have left the wound to worsen. But he hadn’t. He’d hurt her, and then helped her.

Well then, if that was his angle, what was next? Was he gonna’ break her legs just so he could teach her to walk again? Was he gonna’ have her thrown off of a building just so he could catch her? This didn’t make any sense! What did he want?

Confusion settled on her brain like a thick veil of toxic fog; maliciously lacing each and every one of her thoughts with a crippling paranoia that took her breath away.

No, he hadn’t fixed her up to be nice. He only did it so she’d be well enough to continue their game of Cat and Mouse…

Now panting heatedly, Reign narrowed her eyes at him and ran her twitchy gloved fingers over the makeshift bandage on her arm.

Oh how she wished she had never awakened at all.